


drift free

by onebanana



Category: Free!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Mechanic, Alternate Universe - Street Racer, Description of minor car accident, M/M, description of minor injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-26
Updated: 2018-11-26
Packaged: 2019-08-29 17:21:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16748341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onebanana/pseuds/onebanana
Summary: Even after all these years, Makoto cannot get used to Haru's injuries. But as long as Haru's smiling, he'll deal with it.





	drift free

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the MakoHaru Flash Bang of 2018! Thank you, mods, for making this event possible!
> 
> And also the biggest thank you to [lunchmoney-lance](http://lunchmoney-lance.tumblr.com) for making this story infinitely better with her wonderful art, which can also be found [here](http://lunchmoney-lance.tumblr.com/post/180522738388/here-are-the-pieces-ive-drawn-for-the), on her tumblr!
> 
> i can be found on tumblr [here](http://freebananase.tumblr.com)

“Makoto.”

Haru’s voice is as low and as carefully blank as always. Still, the anticipation, the impatience shines clearly in wide blue eyes.

“Almost done, Haru,” Makoto assures, swiping a grease stained arm across his brow, dashing away the sweat as he straightens. He casts a final look inside the hood of Haru’s car, “You were lucky. It could’ve been worse.”

_Much worse._

The terrifying memory of tires screeching, desperate to find traction, echo in Makoto’s ears. He swallows, eyes falling involuntarily shut against the image of an unfamiliar car - an amateur behind its wheel, driving far more eagerly than his skill allowed - skidding out of a curve.

And clipping Haru.

It had happened much too quickly, and still, time seemed to have slowed -  the blue of Haru’s car blurred as it spun out, yet the sun’s light had caught it, glittering softly, gently against its surface.

For a breathless, uncomprehending moment, he’d thought it almost beautiful, almost graceful. Then, as cold terror turned to adrenaline, he’d despised himself for it.

If it had been anything more than a friendly match, if Haru had already begun to accelerate, if they had crashed into _each other-_

Makoto shakes his head, reaching up to ease the hood down. He knows he’s gripping the metal far too tightly, knows he should be past this, _should have_ been past this long ago -  but the words he’d rehearsed to himself too many times, the words his own family had spoken to him, rests on the tip of his tongue, desperate to be voiced.

_Please stop this. It’s too dangerous - I can’t watch you do this, I can’t keep wondering if you’re going to come back home._

Words he should have said when Haru hard first discovered racing - first discovered _street racing_.

But-

Makoto still remembers the light in Haru’s eyes. He still remembers the way Haru had come to him, breathless, nearly shaking as he’d explained, with far too few words, what he’d done.  

Makoto had been horrified. He’d grabbed onto Haru, searching him for injuries, demanding to know what he’d been _thinking_ -

But Haru had just looked up at him, a spark of life in his eyes Makoto hadn’t seen in years, and breathed, _“I’ve never felt so free.”_

He still remembers the long nights spent researching, the hunt for parts, carefully worded questions to the local mechanic, who had looked at them with suspicion, but answered them nonetheless.

He remembers Haru’s poorly hidden frustration each time he came back from the test drive - and he hadn’t said a word, but Makoto had understood.

Haru needed it faster, _faster_ \- as fast as he needed to feel free.

He remembers the first time Haru had returned with that breathless excitement lighting up his eyes once more. The first time Haru had said to him, “Come with me.”

Watching Haru drive had always been a beautiful sight - the way the car seemed to glide along the road, sliding so smoothly through the turns that the sound of tires against the asphalt seemed almost out of place.

But being beside Haru when he drove - it was quiet, it was peace - even Haru’s deft movements couldn’t break the stillness that seemed to envelope them. It was, Makoto realised, breath caught as his gaze lingered on Haru’s smile, _freedom._

_(When the car slowed to a stop, when Haru had turned to him, eyes bright, questioning - a chilling heat had flooded through him. Uncertain, wanting, Makoto had reached forward, thumb rubbing lightly against Haru’s jaw, gaze held by unblinking blue, before he’d leaned in, eager to taste the smile he’d been captured by.)_

It’s that smile that stops Makoto - that has stopped Makoto countless times from begging Haru to end it, from trying to convince him that it was too dangerous. That Makoto couldn’t handle it, couldn’t handle the terror, the panic before every race, wondering if this was the one Haru wouldn’t be able to come back from.

Makoto sighs, swallowing the words once again, letting the hood fall close before he turns to Haru with a smile.

“All done.”

Haru’s eyes light up as he pushes himself off the wall he’d been leaning against. He’s by Makoto’s side in two strides, running reverent hands over the repaired hood. Makoto laughs as Haru’s gaze flicks to the side, eyeing the road, calculating.

“Haru, no,” Makoto says, tugging lightly at Haru’s jacket, careful to keep the grease away from the leather, “It’s 4am, and it’s pitch dark, you promised you wouldn’t do this.”

Haru huffs, turning his head away almost sulkily even as he steps closer.

“This wouldn’t be a problem if you’d just come during normal business hours.”

Haru looks to him then, amusement in his eyes as he turns, leaning against the hood.

“Says the person who freaked out when his boss walked in on us kissing.”

Makoto flushes lightly as Haru reaches for his hand, tugging him closer, “Haru, wait, don’t- I just repaired that!”

“And you did a great job,” Haru says, shifting his grip to Makoto’s undershirt as he pulls Makoto down, breath hot against Makoto’s lips as he smiles, “Ready for the payment?”

“ _Haru-”_ Makoto groans, exasperated, barely steadying himself against the hood, hands planted on either side of Haru. He catches the sparkle in blue eyes, and huffs out a sigh, smiling as he closes the distance. At the soft brush of Makoto’s tongue against his lips, Haru lets out a satisfied hum, tilting his head back, and Makoto shivers as a familiar heat runs through him.

He presses against Haru, the rhythm of Haru’s heart quickening against him still making his own beat faster, after all these years. Eyelashes brush against his cheek, nearly fluttering, and he knows if he opens his eyes now, it would be to Haru’s half-lidded gaze- warmed, darkened. He pushes in even closer - but Haru tenses, and he freezes.

Haru’s injuries.

Makoto pulls away, stuttering apologies, still near enough to feel Haru’s warm breath against his lips, near enough to catch the frustration flashing through Haru’s eyes.

Relenting, Makoto settles his weight on one hand, reaching up with the other to draw a gentle touch along the bruise on Haru’s cheek. He shifts, pressing a light kiss to the injury, and another, and another - praying for Haru’s safety with each kiss.

“Makoto,” Haru says, impatient, hushed, in Makoto’s ear.

“Mm,” Makoto murmurs, hand falling, sliding under the worn material of Haru’s t-shirt, settling against the small of Haru’s back, just to feel Haru’s skin, cool against his palm, “Sorry.”

He buries his face into the curve of Haru’s neck, before letting out a nearly shuddering breath, “Sorry,” he says once more, lips shaping the word almost like a kiss.

He doesn’t know how much he’s apologizing for - doesn’t know if he’s apologizing for not being strong enough to prioritize Haru’s life over his passion, for not being strong enough to make Haru understand, to make Haru _choose_. For being selfish enough to refuse to be the reason that smile disappears.

If Haru knew about these thoughts, would he still have his arms around Makoto? Would his fingers still be tracing unconscious patterns into his back? Makoto has no answers, and only hopes, desperately, that he deserves the comfort he’s taking from Haru’s touch.

He raises his head as Haru draws him close once more, and allows himself to be set adrift in the building warmth, in their hitching breaths, in Haru’s hand in his hair.

Until Haru pulls away, a breathless, “Makoto,” on his lips. And Makoto knows that tone - it’s burned into his memory.

Still, he turns with Haru’s nudge, and he’s laughing even before he lays eyes on the coming dawn.

“Alright, Haru. Now’s fine.”

He tries to step away, but Haru’s grip on him doesn’t loosen, and he’s trapped in Haru’s hold, blinking in confusion against Haru’s deliberating gaze. Just as he’s about to ask what’s wrong, Haru leans in, pressing a quick kiss against Makoto’s lips before releasing him, pulling the car keys out of his pocket.

“You drive,” he says with a rare grin, and, taking advantage of Makoto’s surprise, continues, “you haven’t forgotten how, have you, Big Orca?”

Makoto immediately grabs at the keys, frowning automatically at the _ridiculous_ nickname he’d been given when he’d still been racing with Haru.

“Of course not, _Silent Dolphin_.”

“I told you I wanted to be called Grilled Mackerel.”

“You don’t get to choose your own nickname, Haru.”

And it’s this - the laughter in Haru’s voice, the sparkle in his eyes, that settles all of Makoto’s fears, uncertainties.

Because as long as Haru’s happy, as long as he’s _free_ , he’ll always return to Makoto’s side.

Always.

 


End file.
